Realm of Ash Series: Soul Bond (Book 1)

CHAPTER 12 - ROLAND

King Roland cast his eyes down towards the blackbird taking flight from its branch, soaring high and beyond the latticed window frame of the Citadel throne room. Continuing his gaze towards the smoke-filled horizon beyond The Ridge. The snaking curtain of smoke rose high above the village engulfed in flames, massacred, and torn from life. He listlessly observed the thundering brute strength of Otharoks hell spawn behemoths crushing the remaining skulls and corpses of slain militia in the neighbouring settlement. Echoing cries of fleeing villagers rippled through the stripped mountain valleys.

Churned dust from the onslaught began to settle as the mighty numbers of Gor'rok demons glowed red from the crystal shards crowning their spines, then began to submerge themselves beneath the earth, vanishing from sight with nothing but sorrow left in their wake.

Turning his attention to the rear of the throne room was a stone structured balcony drenched in warm sunlight. He stepped into the warmth of the sun and icy breeze, high amongst the clouds, he could almost graze them with his palm. With a deep sigh, he shifted his attention down towards the swollen empire of Blackwall. Its size dominated the vast land of newly formed territories within Blackwall, up to the near edges of The Ridge. Territories split like wooden spokes on a fractured wagons wheel, each isolated by dominating border walls. Each territory sharing expression of pride or contempt for the king and connections to him.

Those who chose a life of worship for Otharok and to live and serve under Roland's reign, inhabited the Colinus district of which the Citadel was crowned upon the cresting foundation of buried structures and buildings stripped from the old Blackwall quarter, rising the Citadel high, and Roland even higher. This district remained bolstered with shoulder-to-shoulder fixtures of the Blackwall barracks and armouries for Rolands elite battalion of militia. Contrasting his gaze, he turned his eyes toward the Slums of the neighbouring, Old Quarter and the towering emissions of thick black clouds of smog and soot, blown from the factories of demonic manufacture. The smell and painful adolescent memories rooted here, twisted his expression bitterly.

The remaining two territories sat in constant conflict of opposing cults, to which his majesty simply ignored. A dormant civil war between two cults scrapping over the new land of Blackwall which Roland had provided, but was instead dissected into two separate regions by those who shared separate minds.

Those of the Ancient Order, fittingly named their share of land, the Ancient Territory. Boldly donning white and gold hooded robes bearing a hand stitched golden circle emblem as a symbol of purity and shining light within a realm of darkness. They bled and died for preserving the ancient era of deities and their protection of mortals before the reign of Otharok. A democracy to preserve the memory of their Elder Gods and guardians despite feeling these almighty beings had abandoned their worshippers. It was a collective ethos to prove their loyalty, despite their isolation under the feet of a demon oppression. An oppression they hoped to dissolve where they could.

The Crimson Divide of the Crimson Territory proudly wore red and black robes stitched with their own insignia of a red diamond pattern, symbolising the relic which brought Otharok to them; the blood gem. A crest crudely stitched onto the sashes of their attire, and painted in the blood of the Ancient Order cult on the walls of their partitioning canal cutting through the lands of each group. These fanatics held a great reverence for Otharok and his blessings upon the realm. Their palpable minds sought after his ideals to purify the realm with shadow to pave the way for demon royalty. To cleanse the realm and bleed their way to aiding his campaign and expand on new lands. To some degree this loyalty kept them safe and alive with preserved, conscious minds, and out of the spectral pit of The Forgotten in the Old Quarter.

Both cults often leaked into the canals running between the walls of these territories. Canals of these spokes housed a peaceful, but grotty, neutral sanctuary away from the lurking eyes of the toxic powers who controlled them. A place too dismal to be even considered suspicious. It was home to dusty taverns; sewage runs, and the forlorn souls of villagers who used to call Blackwall home. Now, cast aside as slaves for the manufacture of materials to strengthen Otharoks rising army of Steel-clad Geist's. These were spectral entities tamed from the pool of Forgotten souls and crafted into smoke and steel bred monsters, often seen as gatekeepers between territories throughout Blackwall, except for the Old Quarter. The Forgotten were becoming ever more feral here and that was just how Otharok liked it; a cage for his pets. The Steel-clad Geist's would also frequently peace-keep settlers within the Ancient Territory, patrolling the streets of this province to prevent any undermining or conspiring against his majesty's reign, or Otharok himself. Much to their detest, the Ancient Order obeyed these powerful ethereal creatures, as their strength and weapons remained only powerful against other mortals, despite their best efforts of previously failed assaults on the monsters.